Chapter Seventy-Four: The Seed of the Sword

In the world of cultivation, there is a saying: “Buddhists are inscrutable, Daoists are ruthless, Confucians are cunning.” There’s another: “Buddhists possess deep wisdom, Daoists achieve lofty heights, Confucians are bound by strict rules.” Both seem to hold some truth.

He Chang’an merely heard these sayings and took them as such, without much understanding. By common reckoning, anyone under twenty who cannot even break through the ninth rank of a martial artist is deemed a hopeless case. Even if one were to lavish upon them mountains of precious resources, the effort would scarcely stir a ripple.

Among the great households of the Tang Dynasty, it was said that the poor pursued literature, the wealthy pursued martial prowess, and only those on the brink of ruin turned to cultivation. Many scions of noble families, desperate to advance in martial ranks, would stop at nothing, driven by ruthlessness and cunning.

Naturally, the old scholar didn’t reveal all the hidden truths. What he implied was simply that all the best things had already been snatched up by the unworthy.

Only the Confucian scholars, he said, were like a cask of fine wine—after traversing mountains of books and oceans of scripture, there might come a sudden enlightenment, an unexpected breakthrough, achieved through patient accumulation. Thus, Confucian elders only grew more formidable with age, their wisdom ever more sought after. So much so, rumors began to circulate: “So long as the sage lives, the thieves shall never rest.”

Yet, these sayings applied to the innately gifted. Most scholars, he said, read themselves to death—reading for reading’s sake—growing ever more rigid with every book, until they became pitiable slaves to literal meanings.

As for the Buddhist sect, it was an exception. They spoke little of cultivation or accumulation, seeking only “fate” and a single moment of “enlightenment.” Yet in the end, theirs too was a path of profound depth. Buddhist attainment was simple, comprising three stages: self-awakening, awakening others, and the perfection of both. “Buddha saves those with whom he has affinity; enlightenment can be attained in a single instant”—that was the principle.

As for He Chang’an, after much deduction, reflection, and even consulting with Lord Zheng from the Demon-Slaying Division, Mr. Lü concluded that he was a natural “Sword Seed.”

“At least he’s not a scoundrel…”

…

In the small courtyard on Yellow Mud Alley, A’Jiu wore a blue homespun robe, squatting before the kitchen stove to tend the fire and cook. Her mouth was pursed like a trumpet flower.

Though her skin was dark, her features were delicate, and there was an openness to her demeanor. If not for the two smooth braids she wore and the bamboo sword at her waist, others might have mistaken her for a servant boy purchased by He Chang’an.

Over the past month, too many people had come by for free meals, costing at least seventeen taels of silver—even after her cost-cutting efforts. With He Chang’an’s generous yet impoverished nature, if every guest expected wine and meat, he’d be ruined in no time.

Thus, tensions between A’Jiu and the guests began to surface.

The easiest to deal with was Mr. Lü. That old fellow was content as long as there was food and drink; no matter how A’Jiu scowled or mocked him, he never took offense. And he had a way with words: “A meal of coarse rice and a ladle of water in a humble alley—yet Hui remains joyful, untroubled by hardship.” That struck a chord with A’Jiu.

Now that’s a true scholar, she thought—unlike the rest of you riffraff!

The one A’Jiu disliked most was Lord Zheng. She found him insincere, even thicker-skinned than the scholars Zhao Zheng, Du Shisan, and Wen Taiyuan. He was all respect before Mr. Lü, but turned into a wolf with others—baring his teeth and barking orders. Most infuriating of all was his attendant, Zheng Hongxiu, who could gulp down seven baskets of lamb buns in one go. She believed in eating for nourishment, and with two generous mounds on her chest, it was clear she’d consumed several pounds.

A’Jiu often pondered what other kinds of meat Zheng Hongxiu might eat, besides lamb buns…

Her closest friends were Li Yishan and the little nun. Li Yishan ate a lot, but was sweet-tongued and knew how to please, often gifting A’Jiu a martial manual, trinket, or snack. The little nun also ate heartily, but was quiet and flat-chested, so A’Jiu felt no pressure around her.

The one A’Jiu doted on most was the jade-faced spirit fox—a tiny, pink creature no larger than a fist, irresistibly adorable, who would occasionally slip her a few scattered coins. Everyone knew full well the fox’s silver had come from filching the scholars’ purses at the academy.

There was one more guest at He Chang’an’s home: an old man, tall and broad-shouldered, his hair frosted with age. He never spoke more than a few words, stooping out at dawn and stumbling home at midnight to collapse into sleep. Only after much “investigation” did A’Jiu learn that this was He Chang’an’s father.

…

After a month, Mr. Lü felt he’d taught He Chang’an all the principles he could, and returned to his teaching post, sweeping out the crowd of freeloaders—except Li Yishan and the little nun, who were allowed to stay a while longer.

At last, peace returned.

That evening, in a rare gesture, A’Jiu bought two jin of lamb ribs and simmered a big pot of broth for everyone. As He Chang’an said, “Better to drink the soup than eat the meat; lamb broth is the true tonic.” Each person had a large bowl, along with a few baked buns, and whatever was left went to the little nun.

He Chang’an crouched beside the brazier, warming his hands, watching the little nun devour her meal with astonishing appetite, his gaze thoughtful.

“Master Dingding, let’s discuss something,” he said, finally, as she finished the last of the broth. “I want to—er, I’d like to help heal your wounds.”

“Heal? But I’m not injured,” she replied, blinking her apricot eyes in surprise. “He Chang’an, you’re not using this as an excuse to court me, are you? That’s a terrible pretext—Amitabha!”

He Chang’an fell silent.

The little nun had once been captured by a certain consort from the Hibiscus Garden, and only rescued through Lord Zheng’s intervention—her situation was sensitive. To He Chang’an, her peculiar spiritual state was a ticking time bomb, liable to explode at any moment.

Li Yishan quietly initiated their mind-link:

“Are you sure about this?”

“I told you, I have spirit-sight—I can see the marks left by demons and ghosts.”

“Same as mine?”

“Not quite. Yours show ghostly marks; hers are demonic.”

“So what do we do? Hit her with a wave?”

“Yes. You hold her head and arms, I’ll handle the rest.”

“That sounds a bit off. You’re not—”

But before Li Yishan could move, He Chang’an knocked the little nun unconscious with a single punch and dragged her into the room.

Li Yishan hesitated, words unsaid.

Mr. Lü was right: sometimes, a fist made a more convincing argument than any other means. When in doubt, knock them out first.

Inside, He Chang’an laid the little nun on a sheepskin, sat cross-legged across from her, and pressed a finger to her brow, letting the black rod slide in.

Half an hour later, a thin black thread appeared, stretching out and, at last, vanishing into an unremarkable palace in the Hibiscus Garden.

This time, a faint trace of sword intent appeared within the black thread, devouring demonic qi as it seeped along the “web line,” probing and exploring.

He Chang’an could not see it with his eyes, but in his heart’s lake, ripples spread, and a strange vision slowly took shape.

A colossal purple scorpion, sprawled in the shadowy depths of the palace, swathed in surging demonic energy, its body crawling with fist-sized baby scorpions, teeming and writhing—a sight to make one’s scalp crawl.

At the center of the giant scorpion’s head, the sword intent pierced in along the black thread, causing its massive body to tremble.

The scorpion’s tail, three or four fathoms long, flashed suddenly, a streak of violet lightning, stabbing straight at the black thread.